Thursday, April 8, 2010

Doctor, Doctor!

Baruch Hashem, I'm fine. I don't want to worry anyone, but there was a small soreness under my thumb that has been there for a while, and I wanted to get it checked out.
Living 2,500 miles away from home, I opted to let my father find a doctor and make my appointment for when I came home after Pesach.
Imagine my amusement when I take notice of all the other patients in the reception area. They all came with their own drivers!
No, I wasn't admitted into the health facility of the rich and famous, it was for the geriatric, and geriatric at heart. (Because I think it is unfair that you can only be a kid at heart!)
My smooth skin and all original teeth left me at odds with the over-80 club that ruled the place. All the funny stares and glances made me slightly anxious.
I quickly texted my father, ascertaining to the exactitude of my current location. He told me there was no mistake, and that he himself had been told by the doctor I would soon be meeting, of the title he earned as the doc's youngest patient. Well. Guess who lost his title to his own son??
The doctor informed me that there was nothing he could really do, and that I should just try downing advil a lot.
That's not exactly what he told me, but that was the basic message in his diagnosis. He called it something like tendon-itis. He was required to make up a medical sounding name for it, to input it into my patient file he was creating on his computer as we were speaking. To make me feel like I hadn't wasted my time, he went ahead and got all my pertinent family data to put in his system. So I was answering questions like how is it to have a twin, and where I'm spending my summer.
The doctor's official opinion as to the source of my thumbulur pain? Texting and typing. If that's the case, then he can bet on seeing even younger patients than me, when all the tweens start coming in.